The Cost of Survival
by AnikaandAj
Summary: "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option." Her eyebrows rose, her curiosity getting the better of her, "And that would be?" "Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course." Max and Fang meet in the zombie apocalypse.
1. Not Alone

Where were you the day everything went to hell?

It used to be a common question to hear. Every survivor was interested in hearing stories of the past. Thinking of the past brought peace.

Max hadn't heard the question in a long time; so long that she almost missed the repetition of her answer. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she had seen a regular person. A living one, that is.

Speaking of that…

Max was sprawled out on the ground, her hair framing the forest earth as a zombie was hovering over her, preparing for the kill. She hadn't come close to death in a while. She had missed it. Snarling, she kicked her feet out, landing squarely on the zombie's chest and keeping it at bay. It flailed it's arms, mindlessly attempting to claw at her and tear into her ripe flesh. The longer she resisted, the harder the zombie fought for its meal, struggling so hard that, for a moment, Max worried her foot would plunge into its decaying chest.

Her hands moved across the deadening grass and twigs in a flurry. In another life it would have looked like she was making snow angels. She needed her weapon and she needed it fast.

_Come on_, she mentally screamed, her mind beginning to verge on what could only be described as panic. His hands were getting awfully close.

Using the sensitive skin of her palm, the physically young girl felt the ground, desperate to find her lucky stake.

Leaves? _No. _Twigs? _No._ Leftover arm? _Oops, definitely not._ More leaves, more dirt, _bingo_.

At the last possible second, Max felt her palm enclose around the cylindrical base of the smooth wood, just as the zombie broke free of its restraint. It tumbled after her, falling onto the girl's writhing form and locking it's large dead eyes on the tender flesh of her neck before…_crunch_.

An explosion of blood oozed all over Max, just after she had managed to impale the starving corpse, milliseconds away from her death.

Today she had survived. She wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

In a simpler time, just before the apocalypse hit, Max had been the weird girl at her college. She was only in her freshman year, but had been instantly cast away from her peers, forced to live in isolation. She was fine with that. She preferred to be alone.

That is, until there was nobody around to flaunt off her loneliness to. Everybody that had turned Max away and labeled her as a freak were dead. She supposed that she should at least be a little sad, but the irony was too overwhelming for her to think much about those who now either walked the earth as soulless monsters or lay scattered in pieces as the remnants of a meal. Max had survived. That was all that mattered.

In the beginning, survival was all that mattered. Four hundred days later after the living population had been reduced to an endangered species, she began to wonder what the point of surviving was if nobody cared. Sure, she was a big winner for being strong and clever enough to outwit the brainless corpses. But who cared? The zombies sure didn't. She was only one small meal and, to be honest, there wasn't much meat on her at that point to devour.

Her entire life Max had proven herself. She had proven that she could beat those who doubted her. In the apocalypse, there weren't many people left to gloat to. Unless she wanted to try striking up a conversation with one of the zombies loitering around.

Calming her frazzled nerves, she wrinkled her nose as she pushed the corpse off of her, doing all she could not to whimper at all of the leftover blood that had gushed onto her and continued to leak down her arms.

While she had never been a girly girl, she still wanted to throw up at the gory display.

As soon as she made her way over to a nearby bush, that was exactly what she did.

After Max had finished emptying her stomach of the scarce food she had scavenged, she wanted—no, needed—food. Pronto. In this world, she couldn't afford to pass out from hunger or dehydration. Judging by the dampness of the earth as Max continued to move west, a source of water couldn't be too far off. She would get water and wash off the thick and sticky crimson from her pores to avoid getting infected herself. Then, Max decided, she could search for food.

Or die in the process.

* * *

><p>It had been about two days, give or take, and she still hadn't found any sustenance. She had stumbled precariously in the dense forest, probably resembling a zombie as her stomach begged for food. Along with her growing hunger, Max could feel despair growing within. By the second day, she truly believed that she would die. Not by a fight to the death, not in a blaze of glory, but because she couldn't find any freaking berries to eat.<p>

That is, until by some unforeseen luck, she had stumbled upon a camp. Warily, she crouched down behind a bush, low enough that her blonde snarls wouldn't give herself away. She, Maximum Ride, had stumbled upon a human. Like, the living and breathing kind. Her first reaction was to reveal herself and beg for a few sweet morsels of food, maybe striking up a conversation if she was lucky.

What she ended up doing was cowering behind a three foot tall shrub, scanning the campsite for movement. She would wait until the perfect moment to raid the camp and steal all she could carry.

Once upon a time Max never would have resorted to something as low and underhanded as stealing. Then the apocalypse came and the world went to shit.

Max narrowed her eyes, watching the roaring campfire crackle, twisting and dancing towards the sky in streamers of orange and red. There were a few logs conveniently located around the fire and a single beige tent, large enough for two or three was set up a few feet away, just far enough to avoid catching on fire. Briefly, she noticed there were many patches on the tent that had to be repaired crudely with duct tape, but was otherwise in perfect condition. There was one set of footprints at the campsite, but they seemed to go back and forth, like the owner paced often.

"Well it's not everyday you see a pretty girl in a bush." A deep voice remarked behind her. Oh shit.

She spun around, her hair whipping behind her, as she reached for her stake. Where she would usually find it attached to her belt, her hand only grasped an empty pocket of air. Where the hell—

"Looking for this?" The same cocky voice mocked her from above. Growling, she looked up at the man she had been planning on stealing from.

He wasn't nearly as lean as she had figured a survivor would be, especially on his own. He was well muscled with olive toned skin, which he mostly covered up with a black hoodie, surprisingly not at all stained with blood. His hoodie was the same shade as his raven black hair, but not as dark as his obsidian eyes. He was attractive, Max had to give him that. But even after so long of being alone, that didn't matter. Why? Because he had _her_ stake.

"Give me back Mr. Pointy!" She snarled, lunging for the sharpened wood. He dodged her attack, an amused smirk resting on his lips as he evaded her clumsy footwork, as graceful as a swan.

"Mr. Pointy? Seriously?" He sneered, stepping backward as she clawed at the hand held her weapon carelessly.

"Listen twinkletoes, it's my weapon and I want it back." She grunted, jumping at him once more. And missing.

"A weapon? That's just sad. It's a stick." He spun the stick like a baton, obviously not seeing the danger in the slab of wood.

"No, it's a weapon. It's saved my life against the zombies more times than I can count. Now hand it over, or else." She held out her hand, glaring fiercely at the taller man. He glanced at her dirt stained palm thoughtfully, before laughing in her face. How someone that had lasted so long in the apocalypse could laugh with a total stranger was beyond her.

"I thought stakes were for vampires."

"It's sharp and pointy. It works for zombies too." Not willing to waste her energy on chasing him, Max resorted to crossing her arms like a child and staring him down. She was beginning to miss being alone. Why couldn't this guy have just let her raid his camp in peace? How come he just _had_ to find her and annoy her to death? Selfish, that's what he was.

"Okay then, slayer. How would you like some dinner? I just went hunting and got some rabbit." He offered, tossing her stake to the ground. It landed inches from her toes, the sharp end piercing the soil. Max looked down at her stake, then back up to the confusing enigma of a stranger.

"You do know I was just about to steal your supplies, right?" She asked dumbly, not willing to believe what she was hearing.

"Yup," He replied, popping the _p_, "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option."

Her eyebrows rose, her curiosity getting the better of her, "And that would be?"

"Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course."

* * *

><p>"Do you always eat like this or have you just been starving longer than I thought?" Then man, who she had discovered was two years older than herself, remarked. She paused from her gorging, probably eating as messy as the zombies, to bat her chocolaty brown eyes innocently.<p>

"Excuse me for enjoying my first time eating anything but berries since the outbreak." She retorted, wiping her messy palms on her jeans. His expression changed to one of horror.

"How have you been eating just berries?" He spluttered. Max was sure if he had been drinking water he would have spit it out.

"Simple. I can hunt, but I can't cook worth a damn. Back in college I had to ask for help just to make Ramen," She shrugged, feeling slightly more relaxed with the crackling flames basking her in a cocoon of warmth, shielding her from the night's icy chill.

"College? Is that where you were when all of this went down?" He questioned, letting a genuine smile ghost his lips at her nostalgic expression. It had been too long since she'd been asked that question.

"Yeah," She answered, her eyes traveling to meet her shoes as guilt infected her, "I was in my dorm the night it happened. My boyfriend, Dylan, had just proposed the night before and I turned him down. When I heard a knock at the door, I assumed it was him. It was, but it wasn't. He was a zombie, the first I had ever seen. When he attacked me, I freaked and thought he was just angry about the rejection. I somehow managed to lock him in the bathroom and ran. It wasn't until I ran into more zombies that I figured out what was going on."

"You didn't kill him?" He asked with his gaze locked solely on me.

"I did, but not then. It wasn't until two days later that I shot him after he had made a meal of my brother, Iggy." Max clutched my knees closer to her chest, finding it suddenly much harder to breathe.

The stranger's eyes darkened, empathetic for her loss and the losses he had undoubtedly had as well. He was smart enough not to say sorry. He knew as well as she did that an apology from a stranger was the day they admitted things were only going to get worse.

"My name's Fang." He said simply, extending his arm for her to shake. She looked at it as if he were offering her poison.

"I want to trust you. I've found that when a person puts a face to a name, it becomes much harder to kill them." He elaborated, his arm still outstretched.

She smirked, his logic resonating with her, even with her paranoia induced sense of unease. Could she really trust him?

"Fang? How'd you get stuck with that one?" She snickered, watching as he only rolled his eyes.

"If you must know, one of the older guys in my group, Jeb, gave it to me a while back. Thought it was fitting after I cut a lame brain's jaw out," Max tried not to laugh at the term _lame brain_ as he jeered, "Besides, at least I _have_ a name."

"I have a name!" She defended, "If you must know, its Max. Maximum Ride."

"Well, _Maximum Ride_, its nice to meet you. I'm grateful you didn't rob me."

Amused, she shook his hand.

"It's a pleasure, Fang. It's a shame we won't be seeing each other much longer, it's been nice talking to someone." She sighed, folding her hands once more as she observed Fang's surprised expression.

"Oh, and what's keeping you from staying? We make a hell of a team." He argued, leaning in closer to her, the fire's glow making his dark orbs appear ten shades lighter.

"I'm more of a loner. It got tiring having to watch people getting picked off one by one." She replied grimly.

"But what if we didn't die? Two is stronger than one." He argued, his eyes roaming over her form for a signal of her giving in. He wanted her to stay, that Max could tell.

"Fang, you're a nice guy, but I'm surprised you've survived this long. There are no _buts_ when the world is hell on earth. Everything ends in death. Every choice and decision has the possibility of dying." Max chastised, not even caring how bitter she sounded.

"It was like that before the apocalypse. Life has always been like that. There's always been the chance of dying, but nobody seems to pay much attention until a corpse tries to eat them." He argued, daring Max to argue.

"Well frankly, the mortality rate has risen quite a bit since corpses started eating people." She stated matter of factly, "We're all going to die, it doesn't matter whether we're together or alone."

Max was stubborn. She refused to let Fang win an argument against her. She was afraid of what would happen if he did.

"Better than dying alone." He shot back, still challenging her, just like he had since they met. This time, Max had no witty comeback. Her vault of endless sarcasm had been drained, now replaced with the thought of Fang's offer. She could stay. Maybe she could even learn what it felt like to be alive again.

But could she trust him?

After ten minutes of silence, the dark haired man stood up from the log and made his way toward the oversized tent.

"I'm going to get some sleep. You should too. I don't suppose you want to join me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. Her scoff served as her answer. He shrugged, obviously having no regrets.

Turning back, he said, "Good night."

"Sleep well." She returned.

"We'll probably be dead by morning." They finished in unison. The chant had become a universal language to all the survivors.

He nodded, pleased, before tossing her a sleeping bag.

"How do you know I won't leave?" She asked suspiciously. After always being an outcast, ostracized in a population of the living, his openness towards the blonde was a foreign concept.

"You won't. You may have survived this world by closing yourself off, but I've found that the only way to survive is to never stop believing in a person's humanity. The day I refuse to trust will be the day they win." He spoke with such conviction that Max almost felt ashamed of herself for doubting him. Almost.

"And what if I left?" She challenged.

"Oh, I'd find you." He spoke with a confidence Max had only been able to fake. With that answer, Fang retreated inside of his tent, leaving Max alone with her thoughts, comforted by the lullaby of the crackling fire.

Maybe she could find a home here. Maybe she could be happy to be alive once again. Maybe, just maybe, she could stop running.

Max was gone by morning, stealing all of the supplies she could carry.

When Fang woke up the next morning, he wasn't fooled by the ethereal glow of sunrise. He knew something was wrong the second he woke up, but he didn't know what.

Upon exiting the tent, his questions were answered. The only sign Max had been there at all was the stake, Mr. Pointy, impaled into the earth inches away from his toes and the lingering whisper of betrayal on his breath.

He could have been angry, resorting to frustration over trusting the thief. He could have unleashed his fury onto the empty world and destroyed whatever he could spare. He could have sunken to the ground, finally losing his hope in humanity.

No, he didn't do any of those. He merely smiled, leaning down to pick up her weapon of choice.

He wasn't worried; he knew this wasn't the end of their journey.

He would find her.

* * *

><p><strong>Aj: Sure, the ending was a bit angsty, but a zombie apocalypse isn't all smiles and rainbows. Besides, who says this is the end...<strong>

**Let me know what you guys think! ;)**

**-Aj.**


	2. Humans and Monsters

**Aj: Let me just start off by saying that I had intended this zombie story to be a one-shot. Maybe a two parter. But then you guys just had to go and be awesome reviewing minions and I just had to get inspiration. To put it shortly, I ended up writing an entire 15 chapter outline for this story. So it will continue and it's going to be pretty sweet. Hope you guys are as hyped as I am. Probably not. Whatever.**

* * *

><p><em>Before<em>

"Max, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you," He had proclaimed, getting down on one knee, "Will you marry me?"

Max tasted blood in her mouth as she attempted—and failed—to push the memory away. How could one moment define the rest of her life?

"No." She had breathed, mere hours ago. Looking back, she wasn't sure why she had declined. It had been a fairy tale proposal. There had been a candlelit dinner, a string quartet, roses. He loved her. One look at him was enough to prove that.

But Max had said no. It had all come at her so suddenly, she reminded herself. They had only been dating for six months. She was only a freshman in college. Max wasn't ready for finals, let alone marriage. _I had panicked_, she thought, but she didn't regret it. He had seemed so broken after her refusal. The waitress had paused in her deliverance of the champagne and Dylan had never looked so…_numb_.

Did this mean they were broken up? Max didn't know. She loved Dylan. There was no denying that. But it wasn't right. No matter what, the entire evening she hadn't been able to ignore the stabbing feeling of wronging chewing up her insides. She couldn't be sure what she wanted out of life yet, but somehow Max knew it wasn't him. As wrong as it made her feel.

Max looked around the apartment her and Dylan shared with dread. He hadn't come back home yet. She had no idea when—if—he would, but she was itching to see him again. The anticipation and unknowing that surrounded his inevitable arrival was worse than the confrontation that would follow. She was sick of waiting; she was sick of running. She just wanted to see him again.

Waiting wasn't doing her any good.

Desperate to take the edge off her growing anxiety, Max made a beeline for the fridge. The case of beer that had always repulsed her now looked like the shining harps of heaven. Without hesitation, she pulled out a can and drowned her nerves away. She had always held such an aversion to drinking—especially being underaged—but that night she relished in the numbness of feeling the amber liquid supplied her.

In between sips, she had reached for her phone. A piece of her felt disheartened there were no messages from him, but she quickly shook those thoughts aside. She had to see if anybody knew where he was before she got too tipsy. She just had to know he was okay. Otherwise not even the alcohol could subside her overwhelming guilt.

"Hello?" A dulled voice spoke on the other end of the receiver.

"Holden?" Max asked, "It's me, Max."

"Who?" His reply made her frown. Like most of her college, Dylan's friends ignored her existence. In the beginning, they had even tried to talk him out of dating the "weird girl". That had been a real self confidence booster.

"Max. Dylan's…girlfriend." She couldn't help but feel like a liar, even to herself. Was that still true? Had she gone from girlfriend to could-be-fiancee and demoted to ex?

"Oh yeah. Uh…what's up?" Holden sounded uncomfortable. Max rolled her eyes, needing another swig of beer to get through a conversation with this asshole.

"I…uh, do you know where Dylan is? It's important that I get in touch with him." She hated how pathetic she sounded. Like she was a needy, overprotective girlfriend forced to stay at home. Her distaste with herself wasn't as important as making sure he was okay. He had always been so gentle and sweet, but Dylan was too sensitive for his own good. There was no telling what he was going through.

"Dylan?" A loud crowd cheered on the other end of the line. Holden was most likely at another party with the other low lives Max refused to associate with. "Yeah, he swung by earlier. Yowza, what did you do to mess him up? I've never sen him so trashed."

Max clenched her fists. Holden really wasn't helping.

"Do you know where he is or not?" She growled, suddenly disappointed in the amber drink contaminating her brain cells. It obviously wasn't good enough if it couldn't get her through a conversation with Holden without homicidal tendencies.

"Yeah, yeah. Actually, not really. He left Jack's about an hour ago, absolutely wasted."

"Was he _driving_?" It was a struggle not to punch him through the phone. If Dylan was as drunk as he said and he was driving…

Max would never forgive herself.

"How am I supposed to know? When he left, Clara was all over me and—"

"Hey, Holden, shut up." Max spat sharply, not needing to hear the details on how the asshole's sexual advances were more important than his best friend's life.

"Just..let me know if you hear anything." She spoke softly.

"Right, sure. Hey, what's your name again?"

Feeling thoroughly repulsed, Max slammed the phone down on the marble countertop. The apartment felt too big to be so empty. She had always felt so lucky to have moved into the spacious apartment with a city view she could stare at for hours. It had been a major step up from the cramped dorm she had shared with her awful roommate. Now, the apartment felt lonely. Its added space only served as a reminder of how badly she had screwed up. She should have stayed and made sure Dylan was okay. She should have talked to him and told him that she loved him, but just wasn't ready to marry him. She should have—

The thump on the door tore Max from her chaotic thoughts.

"Dylan," She breathed, rushing to open the door. She had never been so happy to hear him. There was another thump at the door, this time more insistent. _He must be seriously drunk_, Max thought to herself, twisting the door knob.

"Dylan?" The sight of him shocked her. In only a moment she took in his sickly appearance. His once turquoise eyes were bloodshot with a yellowish pallor and a crazed absence. His normally tan skin tone had been reduced to a sickly green. He smelled as if he had bee bathing in raw sewage and there was just something about the way his body was positioned—like a puppet lost without its master—that sent chills scraping down her spine. Unfortunately, the moment she paused to take in his appearance was a moment too long.

Dylan uttered an inhuman growl, pouncing in a twisted clunky fashion as he desperately clawed at Max.

"Dylan, what are you—" Her words died the moment they slipped from her tongue and were instead replaced by her surprised scream. He collided into her caniballistacally, his eyes showing no traces of recognition as he scratched and snarled.

"Hey, stop!" She croaked, her eyes wide and afraid. Dylan snapped at her neck, his teeth barely missing her skin. The weight of his body was crushing her small frame. She looked at him in horror, using all of her strength to push him away.

"Dylan get off me!" With one final push the pressure relieved from he chest and she quickly scrambled out from underneath him.

Unfazed, Dylan moved to attack once more. Max could see the bloodlust in his eyes. She could feel the hunger in his movements.

She had never been afraid of Dylan before then. All of the stories of abuse and rape happened to _other_ people. Now he just kept coming at her and he wouldn't stop. For the first time, Max knew that if given the chance, Dylan would _hurt_ her. Or worse.

He sprung at her predatorily, outstretching his arms to grab her like a meal. Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest object—a chair—and swung at his head. There was a sickening crack. Dylan fell to the floor in a motionless heap. Max stumbled, dropping the chair in horror. She was stunned. It wasn't until now that she noticed the gaping wound on his left bicep. It looked like a bite from a wild animal.

"Dylan…" She whispered, her voice as soft as air. His head rose sharply, his dead eyes looking to meet hers. In an instant he was pulling himself up again, once more in ravenous pursuit and clawing at her legs. For a moment, she stopped. Why couldn't he just talk to her? Why was he doing this?

Tears began clouding her eyes. She needed to get out of there. She ran as fast as she could—despite being slowed down by by her dress and heels—but he was quick on her heels.

"Dylan, stop!" But he didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't the Dylan Max had grown to love. No, this Dylan was much different. She had her back towards him as she ran. Looking back, Max would realize that had been a mistake.

A splitting pain burst through the nerves of her skull as he monstrously captured her hair, tearing her back to him. Tears were now streaming down her pale skin, washing inky tresses of mascara with it. He hovered over her, snarling and snapping his wicked jaw as he dove to tear into her neck. Out of self preservation, she there her arms up to push him away. The act caused a strain on her already shaking muscles. He just kept coming and Max was growing tired. It felt as if they had been fighting for hours.

A trail of blood had begun to seep down her head, probably from the impact of her blood. This only seemed to make him attack her harder. She needed a plan. She needed to do something. She needed to get away from him.

"Dylan, I love you." She wailed, before calling on every ounce of strength she possessed to flip him from her shaking form. Before he could lunge for her again, she hurdled over the couch and slipped her hands beneath it's underbelly. Before he could follow she flipped the heavy Italian leather couch and watch it fall on top of his writhing form. There was no telling how long he would be pinned.

She didn't look back. Instead she bolted for the door and shut it behind her. Only then did she allow herself to break down into tears.

"I'm going to kill that slimy bastard." Iggy, her brother, growled. She hadn't had anywhere else to go after the incident but her brother's small townhouse. At first, he hadn't been too pleased to see his baby sister knocking on his door at one in the morning, but had quickly let her in after seeing her haggard appearance. She had immediately passed out on the couch without explanation. He had woken her up with a pancake buffet and an interrogation.

For the past hour she had settled to being curled up on his couch as Iggy paced, going back and forth on the various ways he would get revenge on the asshole that hurt his sister.

"I'm going to skin him alive, burn his bones, and then dance around a ceremonial fire so that I can resurrect him and kill him all over again." He decided confidently, only seeming to get angrier with each step.

"Iggy, stop." Max ordered quietly, hugging herself to forget the previous day's events. She doubted that was possible.

He spun towards her incredulously.

"Max, he _attacked_ you. The rich daddy's boy always rubbed me the wrong way, but he tried to _hurt_ you. There's no way this guy is just going to get away with hurting my baby sis."

On any other day she would've smiled at his protectiveness. But in the course of a day her boyfriend proposed, took off after she rejected said proposal, and attacked her in a rage. Oprah just didn't prepare a girl for this stuff. She was still wearing the silk blue dress she had worn for their date, back when things were still normal. It was tattered now. The hair she had uncharacteristically spent time on had been smeared with her own blood. In short, she was a mess. Both inside and out.

"Revenge isn't going to help. He's dangerous, Ig. I already called the cops to come and arrest him." She tried to reason, wanting him to just drop the subject. Iggy's face fell as he looked at Max, no doubt seeing her as weak and helpless as she felt.

"Can't I just blow him up a little bit?" he pouted. Max rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with a slight grin. At least after the crap day she had endured, she could always rely on her brother for a sense of normalcy.

Iggy's smile faltered as he took in her appearance somberly.

"You look like shit." He observed, rather bluntly. Max raised an eyebrow in shock, prepared to throw another pillow at him.

Realizing his mistake, Iggy put his hands up in defense, "Whoa, whoa. You know that's not what I meant."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say asshole." She retorted, the barest hint of a smirk on her face. He put a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"Ouch Maxie, that hurts. I was just going to suggest you go change. Ella's got some clothes and whatever girls need that I'm sure she wouldn't mind you borrowing."

Ella was Iggy's girlfriend of three years. He had fallen head over heels in love with her in college and had been absolutely lovestruck in her presence ever since. She was the most independent person Max had ever met, which was why Ella refused to move in with Iggy. Officially, at least. She still practically lived there, somehow able to withstand longterm exposure to her brother. Max's family had always been so sure she would follow in their footsteps with Dylan. For some reason she felt as if she had disappointed them.

"Max? Earth to Maxie?"

"Huh?"

She was snapped back to reality and greeted with the sight of Iggy's palm obnoxiously waving in front of her face.

"Uh yeah, sure. That sounds great." She mumbled, robotically rising from the securing of his couch and going to his room. Max was no stranger to Iggy's house. He had graduated from college two years beforehand and worked hard to get a job and rent a house until he could buy one for himself. That was one of the reasons he had never liked Dylan. He came from a well respected family that handed him everything he could ever wish for. With that came pressure for Max to act prim and proper in front of his family She had always come to Iggy's to blow off steam. Just…not like this.

Shaking away her thoughts, she sighed and tore through Ella's half (more like two thirds) of the dresser to search for something to change into. She settled for a button up baby blue top paired with a comfy pair of jean shorts. Ella had been going through a pink phase, so the blonde doubted she would miss them.

Max took her time changing. Her body felt sore and stiff and her bruises ached. By the time she had changed, washed her face clear from any makeup and brushed her hair she had been gone for half an hour. Knowing Iggy, in that time he had either managed to bake a gourmet soufflé or blow something up.

To her delight, it was the former.

"You've outdone yourself Ig." She murmured in between bites of the chocolate soufflé.

"Always a pleasure to share my gifts with the world," He grinned cockily, leaning against the counter, "So I'm thinking after you inhale the chocolate in that bowl the two of us have an epic Mario Kart showdown."

"Oh you're so on." She smiled, about ninety percent sure chocolate stained her teeth in unattractive lumps. Max wasn't an idiot; she knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract her, but she didn't care. She had missed hanging out with her brother and just feeling carefree.

But that didn't happen this time.

Even while savoring her chocolate cloud of heaven, winning in Mario Kart, and laughing as Iggy rolled on the ground in humiliation, she couldn't help but think about the events of the previous night. Dylan had looked so…unlike himself. She had just assumed he was drunk. As if being drunk could _ever_ be an excuse for what he did. No, just because it was the first time she ever drank didn't mean she had never seen anyone drunk before. Dylan would drag Max into college bas all the time where she would witness Holden's antics.

Something had been off with him.

She voiced her concerns to Iggy, but his response had been lackluster.

"It's obvious," He shrugged while pounding on the buttons of his controller, "Your boyfriend is a zombie."

"Haha." She responded dryly. Sighing, Iggy paused the game and returned his focus to her. Max had always been impressed with his ability to morph between the hyperactive goofball and the sensitive, caring older brother.

"Listen Max, guys like Dylan are used to getting everything they want. You rejected him and he showed his true colors. Let's just be glad that he didn't get away with it." He explained, as if it were that simple. But he hadn't been there. It wasn't like a typical abuse story where a guy hits a girl or vice versa. No, his actions had been nothing short of animalistic. She had looked into his eyes and what she saw was _not_ Dylan.

"Ig, it wasn't like that. It was almost like he was trying to…I dunno…_eat me_ or something sick like that. He just didn't look like himself. His skin was like this ghastly shade of yellow, his clothes were a mess, and there was this bloody wound on the back of his arm and his eyes were like these dead orbs just rolling around in his skull! I'm telling you it wasn't natural."

There was a pause as he took in her description.

"You do know I was kidding about the zombie thing, right?"

Max frowned at him. How the hell was she supposed to share her frustration when her own brother was making fun of her?

"How's your head?" He finally asked, concern written across his face. She leaned away from him and subconsciously grazed the back of her scalp. It had been bleeding pretty badly when she arrived at Iggy's the night before.

"I'm not crazy." She muttered darkly.

"I'm not saying you are. I'm asking how your head is after sustaining a head wound and underage drinking." He raised his hands in a sign of peace. She was too tired to glare at him.

"Fine, I guess. I just hope I bled all over that asshole's fancy carpet."

Iggy snorted, twirling the cord of his Xbox controller absentmindedly. It was a nice visual after such a harsh twenty four hours. Somehow Iggy's presence had a way of making her feel her most comfortable. It was something she missed after he left for college.

"If I had anything to do with it that dick would have a lot more than a stained carpet." He sat, tensing up at the very idea of Dylan.

"It's a really nice carpet." Max appealed. Her remark did nothing to curb his bloodlust.

"Hey, listen, why don't you put in a game you actually have a chance at _winning_ and I'll get some coffee." She gave him a small smile as she stood up, only making it three steps before the window to her left exploded. The scream of a woman was quick to follow.

"What was—"

The droning of a roque fire alarm cut off Iggy's question. Max flew to the window, craning her neck to view the source of the chaos.

"Do you see anything?" Her brother asked, peering behind her. A few people had begun to crowd the streets. Some had even begun to run. Aside from a shadow or two from behind the curtain of the house perpendicular to her, Max saw nothing.

"No, but you should probably call the cops. Just in…"

The words faded from her lips as she spun to see Iggy holding out an open phone.

"The line's dead." He stated simply.

_Oh_, she thought, _So much for that plan._

They stood rooted in thick silence. It seemed impossible to break. Until it wasn't.

There was a heavy thump at the door. Max swallowed tightly, sure she had heard a similar sound only a day ago.

"I don't suppose that could be our friendly neighborhood grandma come to ask for sugar?" The lanky strawberry blond deadpanned, drifting to the locked door. Max's chest constricted. She was unable to escape the feeling of dread that had descended upon her.

"It's Dylan." She didn't know how she was so positive. Iggy's pace to the door quickened. He looked out the peephole sweating droplets of fire.

"Shit, you're right. Wow you weren't kidding he looks like crap." Iggy remarked, finding some dark humor in the deterioration of the man who hurt his little sister.

"Yup," She spoke, popping the _p_, "Wait, you aren't seriously going to let him in are you?"

He ignored her bewildered gasp.

"Calm down Maxie, your big bro's got this covered. I'm just going to make sure this douce doesn't try anything again." He waved her off and twisted open the door.

"Listen here Dyl—"

Dylan descended upon her brother immediately, snapping his jaws with the aim to devour and destroy. Ice burned though Max's blood. She was unable to contain the horrified scream that burst from her raw throat.

"What the _fu—_"

Iggy roared in pain, a sound so guttural and emotive that Max could've sworn she felt the pain herself. Crimson flashed in the outskirts of her vision. Without a thought, her palm enclosed around the cool circular handle of her brother's carving knife and she flew to her brother's rescue.

Max's stomach plummeted as the visuals of the attack assaulted her visuals. She knew she would never be able to forget what lay in front of her. The smell, the sight, the terror, the gore; all of it would be permanently burned into her memories. Iggy choked, using all of his strength to keep the monster that was Dylan at bay. His arm was gushing blood. Chunks of raw flesh and tissue were stuck in the open mouth of the growling monster across from her.

He was _eating_ him.

The thought alone would've made her hurl if not for the dire situation at hand.

"Dylan," She spoke, but her words came too late. The knife she gripped in her sweaty palm felt powerful as she swung and arced the steel tip into her ex boyfriend's skull. He dropped, falling away from Iggy the wood floor.

She choked, unable to breath, let alone scream. Horror burst from her breaking heart and imploding lungs. Gravity had dominated over her weak knees, sending her sprawling to the ground unceremoniously. She just stared at the body lying inches from her own. From the still open door, the girl had an unobstructed view into the street, where beings that suspiciously resembled Dylan trekked through in ever increasing numbers. The sound of her screaming caught their attention. Though still unable to feel breath in her gasping lungs, Max kicked the door shut tightly. To her left, Iggy stared at his still bleeding wound in shock. He was looking worryingly pale.

"Iggy?" Her voice shook with emotion. She still felt tremors from the knife's impact in her shaking hand. The _squelching_ sound the blade had emitted as it entered his skull would haunt her nightmares until she died.

She was a murderer. She had acted out of self defense. Her brother's life had been at stake. She chose one life over another.

_Murderer. _

"Maxie," He gazed up at her, his blue eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"Dylan. He was a—"

"He was a psychopath. He—he wouldn't have stopped." She would tell herself that mantra to live with herself. His blood stained her hands. Iggy shook his head. His movements were slow, as if every muscle in his body was treading water.

"He—he bit me." The shock in his voice echoed into her soul.

"We'll get you patched up. There's a hospital a couple miles from here. I can call Ella and fill her in." She spoke as if she were trying to convince herself.

"I can't believe it. The bastard was _actually_ a zombie. He was a zombie and he bit—"

"No!" Max interrupted her brother sharply, "No. No, no, no. There are no such things as zombies! If anything he must have been bitten by a rabid dog."

Iggy looked unsure. There were more screams coming from outside. Max bit her lip.

"You're going to be fine, Ig. I promise. We just need to get out of here."

He nodded. She wasn't sure if he believed her, but he trusted her.

Everything would be fine.

* * *

><p><em>Now<em>

Maximum Ride had come to terms with her doomed fate long before. She had no doubt in her mind she was headed for hell. She had done whatever it took to survive. Stuff that made her glad her brother wasn't around to see what she had become. At first, adapting to the new world had been hard. It had gotten easier with time as her morals could only be described in various shades of grey. Now it was a second nature.

So why was it, as she tore through the forest, that she had begun to feel _guilty_? It was an emotion she hadn't expressed in a long time. Perhaps because the only people she had associated with as of late had been dead and trying to eat her.

Fang's infuriatingly optimistic personality had been refreshing. Naive, but refreshing nonetheless. She had to admit that her time spent with him had been among the few fond memories she had collected since the apocalypse's beginning. There was just no way she could have stayed. It would be complicated and painful. He was different than most survivors. That made him dangerous. Or worse, living on borrowed time. She had liked him. In a post apocalyptic world, that was just something she couldn't afford.

So she ran. She continued to run even as twigs snapped against her skin and thorns tugged at her hair. The only sound in the world was the rough padding of her feet against the moist earth.

That was the world she knew. You fight and you survive and then you die. She had been lucky so far. Sometimes it became hard to remember the zombies she fought had been just like her once. What had been their downfall? Were they not strong enough? Were they not smart enough? Could it really be determined as anything other than having a bad day? As often as the mystery plagued her, Max refused to find out. She kept running, knowing the roaring in he lungs and the burning in her legs was a sign she was still alive.

"Please, my brother is sick. We just need the medicine!"

Max paused, her eyes growing wide at the sound of another voice. It was small and feminine—possible belonging to a child. Her mind was calculating the possibilities with the precision of a machine. If need be, she could easily overpower the child. Except, the girl wasn't talking to her. She hadn't even noticed Max's presence.

_Sloppy_, Max noted, moving into a crouching position behind a bush From her perch she could see a little girl around six or seven. She was standing opposite from a group of the oldest people Max had come across since zombies started eating people. It was a strange sort of juxtaposition, she realized, watching the youngest and the oldest in a Westside Story-esque face off. Most children and old people were dead.

"I don't know, Charles. After what we went through to get this stuff…after what happened to Liam?" The woman spoke in what Max assumed was supposed to be a hushed voice to the man on her right. He gazed at the little girl from behind his cracked glasses.

"Please. He's really sick." she accentuated,her big blue eyes sparkling. She was surprisingly clean.

"Is he bit?" The man on the left asked sharply. He was the closest to the little girl in height, due to his hunched back. She shook her head quickly, bouncing her limp golden curls.

"Well—" The leaves shifted to Max's left. Her hand immediately clutched the spot in her boot she kept Mr. Pointy, but grasped air. She cursed under her breath, remembering she had left her stake behind at Fang's camp. As if it were a consolation for her leaving and stealing his stuff.

A zombie pinned beneath a log had spotted her. She exhaled in relief. She could handle a trapped zombie without her weapon of choice easily. It's arms stretched out pathetically, clawing at thin air. Max rolled her eyes. Some zombies were just so _dumb_.

Before the group could move to investigate the noise, she cautiously shifted her weight towards the flailing zombie. She had picked up a good sized rock from the forest floor and now gripped it tightly. When she was a safe distance away, Max quickly swung the blunt force down into the zombie's soft skull. Three times, for good measure. It would have been quicker with Mr. Pointy, but the rock got its job done. The squelching of the brain as it burst and popped its juices over her hands was something Max would never get used to. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell positively sucked.

"He's sick. I already lost my parents. I can't lose him too!" The girl sobbed, holding her face in her hands. Max's attention had turned back to the scene before her.

"She's just a little girl." The elderly woman had once again turned to the man beside her. Max noticed the girl's attention was beyond the group. Unnoticed by the trio, a young boy slipped into the clearing. His eyes were trained on the trio's supplies which resided on the ground behind them.

"Holy shit," Max breathed, understanding what was happening. Despite her best intuition, she found herself jumping to her feet. All eyes—and weapons—were on her. The boy froze.

"They're robbing you. Just thought you should know. Her perfectly healthy brother is about to grab your supplies."

The little girl gaped and the boy let out a squeak as the trio rounded on them. Max couldn't explain why she felt the need to prevent a robbery after just committing one herself. She liked to think it had something to do with her need to protect the underdog. Even in the zombie apocalypse. there was no excuse to rob a trio of old people.

"What did you do?" The little girl screeched at Max. The boy accompanying her had taken off into the woods. Max shrugged, choosing to walk to walk away with her own supplies in hand. She had dealt with too many humans in one day. Her social skills (which sucked to begin with) were embarrassingly subpar.

It wasn't any of her business what happened to the two. All she could do was what she had done so far. Keep on walking and focusing on how to survive the next day. If she did that she could—

Suddenly she was flying. And screaming. A little bit of both as the security of the forest floor vanished. Her surrounding were closing in on themselves. Tighter and tighter.

Max felt her chest constrict as she struggled to find security. She was enclosed in a bag—no, a net—about ten feet above the ground. In her surprise, her supplies had fallen to the ground beneath her.

She was stuck.

"Shit!" She screeched, pounding her fists into the ropes that contained her. Her palms shook the enclosure furiously.

"Thank you, dear. Without your help we'd be in a very tough spot." the voice of the elderly woman caught Max's attention. How long had the trio been standing there?

"Uh, yeah. Don't mention it," Max replied shakily, "Wait, actually I take that back. Do mention it. Is there any way you can let me down from this trap? The little con artists must have set it up."

"Oh, no. That's our trap." The stout man spoke proudly.

"That's great! That means you can get me down!" Max enthused brightly. The trio looked to each in a conspiratory manner.

"Actually, we can't. Sorry sweetheart, but I think we're just going to take your stuff." The woman apologized. Her two cohorts had begun to gather her belongings. Max's jaw dropped.

"But I saved you!" She insisted, fighting even harder against her restraints.

"Oh and we really appreciate that. Really, we do. But it's a tough world out there. We just have to do what we can to survive. You understand, don't you?"

Boy, did she ever. But the damn geezer didn't have to sound so patronizing.

"No! Get your dirty wrinkles off my stuff you hag!" Max screamed, throwing her body weight against the net. The old bitch looked offended and the three cast her a dirty look before leaving. Last minute, the stout man took out a case of something and poured it over the grass. Max couldn't get a good look at it, but judging by the rotten toad's dirty expression, it wasn't very nice.

No. Freaking. Way.

Not caring she was in a zombie infested world, Max screamed. Boy, did she scream. Screamed and punched and clawed and…

The sound of laughter echoed into Max's eardrums.

_Great_, she mused bitterly, _more people_. And not just any people.

"Well, well, well, you're very _high_ and mighty these days, aren't you?" Taunted the young boy. Max groaned. Little kid taunting was bad. Little kid humor was worse.

"They stole our stuff too you know," The girl pointed out, "We were trying to get back what was ours. That is, until _someone_ messed it up."

"Look, I'm sorry," Max sighed, "I really am. I thought i was helping. I know you two probably hate me, but it's going to be dark soon. I need to get down from here pronto. Any chance you could help me out?"

She looked to the two desperately. They glanced back and forth at one another, seeming to communicate mentally. After a long pause, the girl nodded.

"The trap is too high for us," She gestured to herself and her brother, "But we saw another campfire really close. We'll go get them and come back for you."

It was like irony was kicking her butt today. She knew what camp they were talking about. She couldn't imagine what Fang would do to her once he found her.

"Wait, no!" She interjected, but the two had already run off. She hadn't felt so helpless in a long time. The only thing that could make her day worse was—

A low groaning noise came from below her. Then another and another. Zombies. Lots and lots of zombies.

Well, shit.

* * *

><p><strong>Aj: Whoa this was hella long. Oops. That's the power of flashbacks I guess. (Where I snuck in a bit of Iggy for you guys already mourning him. Don't worry, you still haven't seen the last of him.) So Fang is back next chapter. That will be very...interesting. <strong>

**Let me know what you guys think, as always. ;)**

**-Aj. **


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